Gozlerinde
by Authoress-in-training
Summary: "We're trained here to hide our emotions – to stay cool, calm, and collected even in the face of certain death.  But they say the eyes are the window to the soul.  And not even Division can teach someone how to mask the emotions that are found there."


**Author's Note: I am a hopeless Nikita addict and proud of it, although I never even thought of trying to write fanfiction for it at first. Too many secrets, too much room for error, too many interpretations to be made and then corrected by info from later episodes. (As a general rule, when I write fanfiction I like it to be as accurate as possible, if it's not specifically an AU interpretation.)**

**But then MorningGloryBlue (author of "The Spy Who Loved Me", another awesome Nikita fic), who's my best friend since kindergarten in real life, wrote one. And then she said that I should too. (Actually, she bribed me with Oreos to write one. Lol, Blue, you had to have known that I would put that out there, didn't you?)**

**So I came up with an idea for a Michael/Nikita backstory fic. But then I watched Thursday's episode, and my whole plan was blown to smithereens. (Like I said - I'm an accuracy freak; see above.) So it's back to the drawing board on that one.**

**In the meantime, though, I came up with this. It's a oneshot, based on Thursday's episode. It takes place in 2006 - two years after Nikita joined Division, and five years after Michael did, about a year before she ran. (Accuracy freak - I did some calculations based on the figures they gave us.)**

**Explanation of the title: _Gozlerinde_ means "in your eyes" in Turkish, which was the only language I could find that's spoken in the Middle East that doesn't have its own alphabet of letters (which would be too hard to copy into the title space). You'll see why by the end...**

**Okay, enough of me talking already. Enjoy my first-ever Nikita fic!**

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March 14th is not a good day for Michael.

No one dares to point it out for fear of his reaction, but it's clear to everyone – from the recruits, to the guards, to Birkhoff and Amanda. Only Percy seems unperturbed. (He knows the reason behind Michael's dark mood, but he'll never tell.)

By the end of the day, word has passed through the entire grapevine of the black cloud of depression that seems to follow him everywhere he goes, and the angrily spat responses whenever he's asked a question. (Some things never change from high school, even in Division.) Most people have started to walk more quickly when he passes by, and avoid eye contact, giving him plenty of space to 'brood.' He doesn't mind being treated like a virtual leper, though – it means he can be alone.

And today, all he wants to be – all he _needs_ to be – is alone.

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"Go away," he says sourly, hearing the creak of the opening door and light footsteps behind him. It was late, and Michael was in the training gym, trying to take out some of his pent-up aggression out on the punching bags. (He'd already knocked two bags loose from their hanging chains.)

"You know, as much fun as hitting a stuffed bag is, I bet fighting a real live person would help you get your anger out _so_ much better." That voice – oh so familiar – slides over his earlobes like warm caramel.

_Nikita_.

"What are you doing here?" He turns around to face her. She's clad in a tight black tank top and leggings, her long dark hair tied up off her face for once.

"You were a wreck today. I heard you come in here, and thought I'd see if I could help you out any." She walks forward slowly, carefully, deliberately, her hips slinking from side to side naturally.

"Niki, you should be–"

"In bed?" She's facing him now, leaning against the punching bag. "I'm not a recruit anymore, Michael. You can't tell me what to do. And _don't_ call me Niki. That's what _Birkhoff_ says." She shudders.

Michael sighs. "Nikita… I'm not saying this as a commanding officer, I'm saying this as your _friend_. You should _not_ be here right now."

"Commanding officer?" A flash of confusion passes through her deep brown eyes, and Michael winces as he realizes he's just indirectly referenced his military past.

"Never mind. Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, but this is… _different_." He stares into her eyes, seeing nothing but caring and kindness. "I don't want to hurt you too," he says under his breath, almost inaudibly.

"Come on. You obviously want a fight, and I'm here. And unlike the punching bag, I can fight back." She licks her lips and takes a fighting stance before him.

Michael doesn't respond, and Nikita drops her arms. "I can see that you're hurting. And you're never going to get closure by yourself."

"_Don't_ talk about this like you know what I'm going through," he hisses angrily. "Fine. If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you've got. No mercy."

She recoils at his sudden change in demeanor, but composes herself quickly, readying for a fight. "I wouldn't have expected otherwise."

"Good." Then without warning, he lunges towards her, fists flying. To her credit, she fights back, giving almost as good as she gets. Michael's heart pounds in his ears, and in his mind, it's not Nikita he's fighting – it's Kasim Tureek, Al-Qaeda's lead hit man.

The man who killed his family.

Only when he's pinning her to the ground, his hands tightening around her neck, her strangled breath sounding in his ears, does Michael remember where he is. Instantly, his hands release Nikita's throat, and she coughs and sputters, gasping for air. He gets off of her and retreats to the other side of the room, gulping down water and wishing it was straight vodka.

(If there was ever a time for self-medication, it was today.)

After what felt like an eternity but in reality was probably only a couple minutes, Nikita joins him. "I tried to warn you," he says softly, refusing to look at her. Ugly red marks in the shape of his fingers stand out against the porcelain skin of her neck, and it makes him sick to his stomach to think that he did that to her.

"They're not that red – in a day or two, they'll be gone, and I can get some concealer from Amanda in the mean time…" Nikita crosses to the other side of the table, staring him straight in the eyes. "Michael. Look at me."

"I almost killed you. How can even stand to be in the same _room_ as me anymore?" There must be some kind of curse on him, he decides – all he ever seems to do is put the people he cares about in danger.

"Because that wasn't _you_ who tried to strangle me. The Michael I know – the one who would never hurt me – was gone. You were someone else, and I'll bet you anything that you were imagining I was someone else too."

"You don't know anything." He's surprised by how quickly she'd hit the nail on the head, but there's no way he's going to talk to her about it.

"I know that you're in pain. And that I care about you. And when you care about someone, you don't like to see them in pain. So I'm here for you." She comes around the other side to sit next to him. "Whatever you need. If you want to talk, I'm here. If you want to go beat the crap out of me again, I'm here."

"And what makes you think I want to talk about this?" He turns away from her.

"Your eyes." She grasps his chin in her hands and turns his face back to meet her gaze. "We're trained here to hide our emotions – to stay cool, calm, and collected even in the face of certain death. But they say the eyes are the window to the soul. And not even Division can teach someone how to mask the emotions that are found there." She releases his chin, but her gaze is so compelling that he doesn't turn away. "In your eyes, I see a man who's been broken, and is trying to piece himself back together."

An awkward, heavy silence hangs in the air, the tension between them so thick it could be cut with a knife. Exhaling deeply, Nikita stands up and starts to walk away.

"Elizabeth."

She whirls around lightning fast, her hair flying behind her like a whip. "What?"

"Her name was Elizabeth."

Slowly, Nikita makes her way back to where Michael is seated. "Who was she?"

"She was my wife."

If that bit of information shocks Nikita, she doesn't show it. Like the true Division-trained agent she is, her face is a blank mask, completely unreadable. "Your wife."

"We had a daughter. Haley. She was five."

"You had a daughter."

"It was five years ago today. I was stationed in Yemen. A source of mine had given me crucial information about one of the area's most lethal terrorist groups. There was a bomb inside the briefcase, intended for the men who would be looking at the information – my superiors." Every word hurts, like someone's scraping a rusty, serrated knife against his insides, but it's strangely freeing at the same time, like the weight of the world has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. "By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late." He stares at his feet. "I watched them explode, powerless to do anything to stop it."

"Michael…" He's vaguely aware of Nikita's hand on his shoulder, her soothing voice in his ears, but he's in another world – watching his reasons to live blow up into a fiery cloud right in front of him. "Michael, I had no id–"

"I killed them." Michael closes his eyes, embracing the darkness like an old friend. "They were innocent, and I killed them. It should have been _me_ that died that day."

"Don't say that."

The silence that follows his admission is comfortable, not at all like before. Finally, he opens his eyes to see her staring at him. "So before, when you almost strangled me, you thought I was–"

"Kasim Tureek." The name probably means nothing to her, but it's almost cathartic, unburdening everything to her. "Al-Qaeda's lead hit man."

"How did… how did you…"

"Percy found me in a medical tent after the explosion. He promised me revenge." Michael buries his face in his hands. "I've spent five years looking for him, but it's like he's disappeared off the face of the Earth."

"You'll find him. Eventually." Slender arms wrap themselves around his neck, and Nikita's silky hair tickles the side of his face. His first instinct is to shove her away – this is _way_ too close for Division's very strict rules about relationships between agents – but finds he can't bring himself to shrug off the soft weight of her head on his shoulder. She smells good – like lavender, or something. "Thank you for telling me."

"Thank you for listening." Time seems to slow down, as Nikita removes her arms and faces him. Her hair slides in front of her face, like a curtain, and purely instinctively, Michael reaches up to push it behind her ear. She's so close…

He's not entirely sure which one of them makes the first move.

Their lips meet in a soft, tender kiss. It's brief – a mere caress – but it's enough to electrify every nerve ending in his body. This is a sensation he hasn't experienced in _years_.

When she pulls away, her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. Not meeting his eyes, she stands up and says, "I've… gotta go. Big day tomorrow."

"Mmm." He nods an acknowledgment, watching her go. Admiring the slender curve of her neck, her long toned limbs, her slinky hips, the long glossy dark hair that hangs down her back like a curtain. She's beautiful, alright – beautiful and dangerous.

From the start, there's been an… _attraction_ between them. But up until now, they'd always just danced around the line, with harmless flirting and banter. This, though… this would constitute crossing the line.

Michael remembers the feel of Nikita's lips against his own, that electrifying sensation. After what happened in Yemen, he'd resigned himself to the fact that he would probably never have another romantic relationship in his life. He'd thought there could never be another woman for him after Elizabeth.

He finds he doesn't mind so much to be proven wrong.

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**Author's Note: If you remember from Thursday, the bomb thing really did happen in March, although I picked a day at random because they didn't give us one. Also, Michael's wife's name really was Elizabeth - I know Kasim didn't say it very clearly, but I went back and watched that scene a couple times to make sure. Spelling of "Kasim Tureek" was purely guesswork; it looks about right, right?**

**So how was my characterization? I know Michael's probably a little OOC, but as we've seen now in "One Way", when it regards Kasim and his family he goes a little atypically OOC.**

**Reviews are my lifeblood, so please tell me how it was. Pretty please? With a cherry on top? (Or rather, with a shirtless Shane West on top? *Drools*)**

**Lol. You get the picture, right?**

**- Authoress**


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